


Stuck in the Middle With You

by overratedantihero



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, Implied Age Inappropriate Relationships, Implied Sexual Relationships, Like a ton of it, M/M, Non-Sexual Physical Contact, Nothing Non Con, Nothing explicit, Plant Induced Drugging, Slade Typical Creepy Behavior, but be fair warned this is not my usual wholesome material, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Through a series of unfortunate and unlikely events, Dick finds himself trapped in a warehouse with Deathstroke and the Midnighter.





	Stuck in the Middle With You

**Author's Note:**

> There is nothing non-consensual in this story, but Dick spends a great deal of it compromised and there is discussion of ambiguous morality. I'm also relying on the New Teen Titans canon, in which Slade and Dick do not meet until Dick is an adult, as opposed to the Teen Titans animated canon.

This was not happening.

“This is not happening,” Nightwing said aloud, feeling along the edges of the door, smooth and unmarred by a handle or button or seemingly _any_ mechanism that may reopen the sole entrance to the tastefully furnished warehouse-home in which he had become locked. He gave up on the door and wildly circled around himself, searching for a window or a skylight or even a dumbwaiter (he’d spent too long in the Manor if he thought a warehouse would host a dumbwaiter- but one could dream.)

“Don’t hurt yourself, Grayson,” Deathstroke murmured from where he lounged on the couch, one leg casually slung over the other. He was still fully armored and masked, although he had removed his katanas from his back and they now rested on the coffee table, next to a vase of exotic looking flowers. He was scrolling through a device, and Dick ground his teeth because there was no way Slade had reception when even Dick’s com system short circuited as soon as the door slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord.

“Would it kill you two to help?” Dick snapped, running his hands along the wall in the hopes of finding a catch or a lever. He bumped into one of the potted plants, but quickly steadied it.

“Busy,” Deathstroke offered. “Checking the boards to see if there are any available contracts on the two of you. Kill two birds with one stone, if you will,” Slade offered. Midnighter snarled, but Slade locked his device and dropped it on the couch, “Your lucky day. There’s nothing of interest.”

Dick could hear his heartbeat thumping rapidly, and he was short of breath. He needed to get out of this suffocating warehouse, away from these plants that he kept stumbling over, farther away from these mercenaries. He punched at a wall and when it didn’t give, he punched harder. He kicked and beat at brick until Midnighter whistled sharply to get his attention.

“Seriously, relax, kid. If there were a way out, I would’ve figured it out by now,” Midnighter offered, plopping down into the love seat across from Deathstroke. “That being said, this room is coated in toxins, you may want a bat-gadget for your face or something.”

Dick slid to the ground and held his head in his hands. This entire fiasco happened only because Midnighter traced god-tech to Poison Ivy, who’d angered the wrong billionaire enough so that a he placed a contract on her head, to be fulfilled by Deathstroke. Dick had tagged along just to keep his almost-step-mom’s best friend from getting whacked, and now Ivy’d trapped him with two unpredictable killers in a warehouse lined with plants Dick didn’t recognize.

“Dick,” Slade said, turning his head to give Dick his full attention. Dick peeked up to meet his gaze. “Cover your face. Discount Batman over there isn’t kidding around, every plant in here reeks.”

“Careful, Dickstroke, you’re going to agitate his daddy issues,” Midnighter retorted. Slade’s eye flicked to Midnighter and although Dick couldn’t see his mouth behind the mask, he could picture the curled lip and sneer.

“Don’t have a rebreather,” Dick murmured, standing on shaky legs and gesturing to his Nightwing uniform, smooth and uninterrupted by the utility belt he sported in his youth. “Didn’t, uh. Didn’t think I’d need it.” _Didn’t think, didn’t think, didn’t think,_ Batman was going to _kill_ him.

Slade tugged his mask away, furrowed his brows, and titled his head. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, “Poor little bird. You trusted Isley, didn’t you? Thought that now daddy Bats and the Cat are cohabitating, her felonious friends would just fall into line? Reality abuses you, Grayson.”

Dick opened his mouth to retort: _Not your little bird_. _Not naïve_. _Don’t want your pity_. But instead, he inhaled a cloyingly sweet scent, stronger than the floral cloud that was already clinging to the warehouse air, that sent him coughing. Immediately he felt Midnighter’s bulk against his back. As Dicks’ knees buckled and began to slide to the ground, M wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him steady.

“… Why?” Dick asked, gesturing weakly at Slade, who remained as composed as ever. Slade glanced down at himself.

“Blue and orange are complementary colors,” he explained. Dick shook his head furiously and the entire room spun.

 “No!” Dick tried to snap, although it came out as whimper. “Why… not affected?”

Slade shrugged. “Different metabolism, decades of experience, the vaccine I created for myself as soon as I knew the nature of my target.”

At that, even Midnighter’s eyebrows cocked. “Care to share?” he asked, holding Dick still even as Dick began to wriggle and aim kicks at Slade, who was far too far away for anything hit to land. Slade rolled his eye.

“It’s a vaccine, not an antidote. We will either have to escape or allow Grayson’s system to build a tolerance by a more unsavory mean.”

“Which is?” Dick slurred, growing limp in Midnighter’s arms. Midnighter adjusted his grip and lifted Dick bridal style, carrying him over the love seat. Midnighter sat and draped Dick so that Dick’s head rested on his thigh.

“Time,” Slade answered. “We sit, and we wait.”

“Door,” Dick murmured into M’s thigh. “Door.”

Midnighter should his head. “Sorry, kid. Bad hit a couple of cities ago. Door’s out of commission for a little while longer, at least while the tech mends itself.

Every bit of training Dick had ever received screamed at him to stand up, to escape, to distrust the two killers with which he was trapped. But his head was too cloudy and his limbs to heavy and—despite everything, Dick trusted Slade and Midnighter. For the moment, at least.

For a while, he dozed, confident in the fact that both Slade and Midnighter predicted each other’s actions well enough to recognize that they were at a stalemate. And then he dreamed, of Donna and Kori and Wally and Vic and Raven, and others too. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but when he woke up, he was startled to discover that he didn’t know where he was. Or on whose lap.

He scrambled to his feet, pulling away from the black clad man and searching for his escrima sticks. He drew them, but then a hand wrapped around one and yanked it from his grip. Dick swiveled and it was almost with relief that he saw Slade, even if it were curious that Slade was unmasked.

“Grayson, kid, what’s going on?” Midnighter asked, holding his gloved palms out in a placating gesture. Dick stumbled closer to Slade. Slade was a known. Slade was sometimes hostile, but he had a code. Dick respected Slade, most days. If Dick were honest, he hosted an affection for Slade that Slade reciprocated, evidenced several times over.

But Dick didn’t recognize the stranger, reaching out to him. And Dick felt weak, vulnerable. He couldn’t fight like this, not without sustaining some serious damage. He released his remaining escrima and clung to Slade’s chest as a wave of vertigo hit him. Even if Slade was hostile, Slade was also territorial. He would protect his own, even if his own was a frequent adversary.

Slade chuckled, long and low, as he wrapped an arm around Dick. Midnighter frowned.

“Deathstroke, the kid warned me about you. Let him go,” M warned. Slade raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve done nothing but welcome him into arms he’s already embraced. Grayson’s vulnerable, drugged. He’s seeking comfort from familiarity. And maybe he’s remember his time as my Renegade with some fondness.” Slade grimaced. “Even if he did set back my progress with Rose.”

Dick looked up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Rose?” he asked. “Where’s Rose?”

Slade pat his back. “Learning about herself without me,” Slade murmured. “Don’t worry about Rose. She’s a good kid, and despite me she’ll do alright.”

Dick’s eyebrows raised and his lips parted, but then he smiled widely, dopily, and nuzzled Slade’s armored chest. “You’ve grown,” Grayson cooed. “You’re gonna get soft yet, old man.”

Midnighter curled his lip. He didn’t know much about Slade, aside from that Slade was enhanced and morally convoluted. He also knew that Grayon wouldn’t ever cuddle up to a mercenary. But rushing Slade right now could very well result in injuring Dick, who was too drugged out of his mind to escape a round between metas.

“We need to get him out of here,” Midnighter warned. “His vitals are spiking.”

Slade buried his face in Dick’s hair. “Pamela Isley is a known affiliate of Selina Kyle. They are close friends, in the midst of a spat. This trap was designed to trap Grayson, to taunt Kyle. It was not designed to harm Grayson, and estrange Kyle.”

Midnighter closed his eyes. “Your contract wasn’t a hit on Poison Ivy. Your contract was to ensnare Grayson. It was a possibility, but it seemed out of your usual sphere.”

“I’m paid to perform all sorts of services, not just assassination,” Deathstroke cheerfully reminded Midnighter, picking up his head. “And tangling with Nightwing has been a labor of love for a sizable slice of his career.”

Dick chuckled against the fabric of Slade’s uniform. “Tangled. Labor of love. You’re being punny. I have rubbed off on you over the years.” Dick paused and then burst into giggles again at his own pun.

Midnighter looked scandalized. “Really, Grayson?”

Dick shrugged. “Don’t know you, don’t have to explain myself to you,” he mumbled petulantly. Midnight refocused his glare on Slade, who shrugged.

“It’s age inappropriate, not amoral. Arguably.”

Midnighter rubbed his face over his cowl. “Great. Now I have to kill you, and there’s not scenario where it’s pleasant.” Then Midnighter lowered his hands and grinned a wide, toothy grin. “Actually, nix that. It’s always pleasant to kill sexual predators.”

Slade raised his eyebrows before patting Dick twice on his back. Dick grunted, but released Slade and flopped onto the couch instead. “Don’t bloody the curtains,” Dick murmured groggily. “Bruce’ll kill me if we bloody the manor curtains.”

M kept his eyes trained on Slade, who tugged his mask back over his head. “Let it be known, I’ve never done a thing to him without his explicit consent.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Midnighter growled, clenching his hands into fists.

“Sometimes, the kid needs a release from the stringent black and white world in which he lives. You know that. There are no heroes, there are no villains. There are actions, and there are consequences. With me, Grayson is able to make those actions, and he has, at times, learned to separate the consequences from the contrived morality of his father.”

Midnighter didn’t so much hesitate as he paused—before slamming his fist into Slade’s masked face. “I don’t disagree,” Midnighter offered, stalking closer. “But that felt good, and I want to do it again.”  

Slade trained his piercing blue eye on Midnighter. “I’m interested to see you try.”

Midnighter rushed him.

When Dick came to, he was groggy but pleasantly warm all over. His cheek rested against an armored chest that smelled masculine and familiar.

“Mm, M,” Dick mumbled, nuzzling his cheek over Midnighter’s insignia.

Then, Dick felt the lightly ticklish sensation of a beard against the back of his neck and recognized weight pressed against his back. Confused, he grunted, and craned his neck until he could see the orange and black clad hand draped protectively over his hip.

“Slade?” Dick murmured, now thoroughly confused.

“G’morning, pretty bird,” Slade murmured against the back of his neck. Slade wrapped his arm around Dick’s waist and pulled him closer, close enough that Dick began to slide off Midnighter.

“Not morning,” Midnighter grunted. “’t’s like. Probably like two in the afternoon by now.”

Dick tried to jerk up, but Slade’s grip was tighter than he’d though, and Midnighter seemed insistent that he slide back under Dick’s weight for a few more hours of sleep. A sick feeling twisted in his stomach. "We didn't...." he began. Both Midnighter and Slade pulled back at that.

"No, little bird," Slade said, tilting his head so that he could look Dick in the eyes. "You were not in your right mind. I'm a mercenary, not a monster." 

"You know me better than that, kid," M said. 

Dick's stomach eased and he dropped back down on Midnighter, soothed. Until he remembered that it was two in the afternoon.  “I slept for the entire night and half the day?” Dick whined. “What about Ivy!”

M and Slade sighed, almost in unison.

“Ivy’s fine. Ivy and the Cat made amends, contract’s satisfied,” Slade explained. “My role is over. You were still drugged when it ended, so we decided to stay until you woke up.”

“Oh,” Dick murmured, no less confused. “The god-tech?”

“Door started working again. Called Apollo. He took care of it,” Midnighter yawned.

Dick wriggled. “If everything concluded and the Door’s back up, why are we still…here?” Dick asked. In this house, which drugged me into oblivion, he politely deigned not to add.

There was an elongated pause, so Dick wiggled again.

“We both needed to heal after beating the shit out of eachother,” Midnighter confessed, sounding put out.

“While you were asleep, we needed to excise some excess tension,” Slade clarified. “It was taxing. He's not as easy to punch as he looks.”

Dick grinned.

“You two brawled,” Dick accused, triumphantly. “You Love-At-First-Punched. You did the Let’s-You-And-Him-Fight thing. You two now _like_ and _respect_ each other.” Then, Dick froze. “Oh, no,” he murmured, arrogance drained from his voice. “You two like and respect each other.”

“Oh yes,” Midnighter grinned, pulling Dick closer.


End file.
